


Nuhoyir

by CT_1205



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Post-Umbara Arc (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 01:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CT_1205/pseuds/CT_1205
Summary: Boil fell in love with Waxer the moment he first saw him. He just didn’t know it.
Relationships: Boil/Waxer (Star Wars)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Nuhoyir

Boil fell in love with Waxer the moment he first saw him. He just didn’t know it.

They were so young, and looking back after living their lifetime together, Boil would say they were too young. Yet, they never had enough time. There was never enough time.

They were the exact same age when they met, and really that was something incredible in itself. Although they never found out for sure, they figured they had been decanted with the same batch on the same day and were split away from each other to grow with their own unit of brothers, and that was the even more incredible thing.

They were both chosen for ARF training while on Kamino and that was the greatest part of it all. Despite being born on the same day, and growing up within each other’s orbit, and sharing more friends than they realized, Waxer and Boil found each other through a stroke of pure luck.

“That just means you’re my soul mate,” Waxer would joke. Boil would huff and roll his eyes, but when he looked at Waxer he was pretty damn sure himself.

Boil didn’t remember making a concerted effort to get to know Waxer. Rather, he was drawn to the other cadet without any conscious thought. His head was shaved totally bald even back then, and at the ripe old age of 16, or 8 depending on your perspective, he was trying his best to grow some semblance of hair on his chin, although it was mostly just little wisps that grew in awkward patches and made him look like he needed to wash his face better in the shower at night.

It wasn’t Waxer’s looks that drew Boil to him. No, he never considered himself all that shallow, and with the untrained eye Waxer was just about identical to every other cadet on Kamino.

All the same, Boil fell in love with Waxer the moment he first saw him and it had nothing to do with skill or looks. From his spot across the sprawling training room with his back pressed against the wall, Boil jerked his head up that very first day of ARF training when he heard the most carefree laugh bubble up from Waxer’s throat on the other side of the room from him. He was gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke to the group gathered around him, spinning some sort of fantastic tale that was undoubtedly a complete and utter lie. Everyone around him knew it too, but no one seemed to care all that much because it was Waxer and his eyes shined with mirth when he talked and he laughed like he would never go to war and no one would ever die and he would never know loss.

Waxer and Boil caught each other’s eyes across the room and Waxer kept telling his story. Without his permission, Boil’s legs carried him across the room and he planted himself smack in the middle of that group and listened to incredible tales of far off worlds they may one day see until the trainers barreled into the room.

Waxer was determined like no one else Boil had ever met before. Not in training, because there were plenty of hardworking cadets that worked their _shebise_ off every day. No, Waxer was relentless in his pursuit of Boil. No matter where Boil turned, Waxer always seemed to be there with him.

“Why do you pay so much attention to me?” Boil asked him eventually. “You’ve got other friends and they’re a hell of a lot more interesting than me.”

“Because you’re quiet, and you don’t laugh or smile much. But when you do, I know that I did something right, and I like how it makes your eyes light up. I’d like to keep trying to make you smile, if you’ll let me of course.”

Boil kissed him right then and there, days out from their tenth decant day and, unbeknownst to them, the start of the war. They were in an abandoned hallway and the kiss didn’t last very long and was chaste by all regular standards. But it stole Waxer’s breath from his lungs and left him flushed in the face, and Boil felt vaguely like he had lived through drowning. No matter what it would take, he vowed he would toe that perfect line of danger for the rest of his life to keep feeling that high.

Instead, he spent the rest of Waxer’s life chasing the sensation.

Their story became rather ridiculous from there. They had been friends for years, and they dated or courted or what have you for a matter of weeks after that fateful day in the corridor. Then came Geonosis and they were sent out to that dusty wasteland in separate platoons and spent the subsequent two weeks not knowing if the other had lived through the maelstrom.

Their armor at that point was still relatively new and mostly unscathed following that first battle of the war, so they matched every other trooper that walked aboard the Negotiator before its maiden voyage. But as fate would have it, when the door to Boil’s bunk room in the officer’s quarters slid open, he was met with Waxer sitting on the bed nearest the door. His little patch of facial hair had finally filled out from the days of their youth, and his head needed to be shaved because there was a thin layer of dark fuzz growing in, but it was undoubtedly him.

When Boil saw him that time, he knew for sure he was in love.

“Boil!” Waxer gasped out in shock. “You’re here.”

Boil didn’t step a foot further into their room at that. He stood in the doorway and stared at Waxer in disbelief and thanked the universe for its foresight.

“I am,” he said dumbly. Then, without much thought, he said, “Let’s get married.”

He expected Waxer to laugh at him or take it as a joke and move on like nothing had even been said, and Boil’s face flushed with embarrassment.

Instead, Waxer continued to surprise him just like every other day of their lives together. He stood from his bunk and crossed the room to take Boil’s hands. He pulled him further into the room and dropped Boil’s bag somewhere on the floor and he sat them both down on the side of the bed.

The Mando’a was halting and stuttering as Boil spoke, but it flowed from Waxer’s lips like second nature. When they kissed each other for the first time since leaving Kamino, they did so as _riduure_ and it was the single greatest thrill Boil had ever felt.

After that, they fell onto Waxer’s unmade bed together and learned each other for the first time. They were both betas, or rather they thought they were both betas back then, and their necks stung with the slowly healing mating marks they left on each other. The bed was terribly small, nowhere near large enough to fit the two of them comfortably for long, but they wrapped up in each other’s limbs and vowed to push the bunks together the next morning.

Almost an entire year passed before they realized they were woefully wrong about them both being betas. Late in the first year of the war, Waxer awoke from his slumber in the middle of night. He was disoriented at first, but he knew for sure that half of his body was uncomfortably warm and it left him vaguely itchy. It didn’t take him long to realize the heat was emanating from Boil tucked against his side, and he rushed his _riduur_ to the medbay before either of them was even really awake.

It took hours of tests and even more uncertainty, but eventually the spicy cinnamon scent wafting from Boil settled in more fully, and they knew the very first omega in the GAR had presented.

Waxer held him in their bed for three days after that, coaxing what food and water and supplements he could into Boil. It was a miserable few days laying in the sauna their bed had become. Boil would gasp and whine in discomfort, tossing and turning to find the coolest spot in the bed all the while. Eventually he gave in and he cried what few tears he would allow himself. They soaked into the collar of Waxer’s shirt and they both came to terms with a reality they were never prepared to face.

Boil wasn’t wholly happy as an omega, and the idea sat heavily on him some days until he slumped with the pressure of it. But Waxer picked him up in the moments he didn’t think he could go any further, and that was consolation enough to make the pill easier to swallow.

Missions passed and one year turned into two and they made it further into the war than their trainers ever led them to believe they would. Waxer and Boil laid awake on the hard nights and they talked about a life without war. Maybe one lived on Ryloth with a little girl that had seen too little food and too much loss in her days. It was one of Waxer’s more fanciful tales, probably the most unbelievable one of all, which was all the more cruel because they both believed it with conviction.

***

All things considered, Umbara was not the worst siege in which Boil had ever been. The forces were tough and they lost their fair share of men in the conflict, but it only lasted a few days and it was as temperate as they could hope and Boil didn’t feel like he was cooking in his own armor. The worst part was being separated from Waxer while they led their platoons.

Boil made it back to the Negotiator first, to be expected as Waxer’s platoon had met up with the 501st during the siege. So, he stripped from his constricting armor and placed it neatly on its rack, and he showered for the first time in days. The warmth of the water eased the aching of his back and joints from so long on planet with so little rest. When he was finished, he slipped into a shirt that smelled like Waxer because no matter how much his _riduur_ protested, that did not make it solely his. He had dinner on his own in their room, something light and bland and easy, then he laid down in their too hard bed and stared at the ceiling.

The hours rolled into each other and Boil never once slept, and by morning he was still completely alone and his stomach churned with every breath he took.

When Boil’s comm buzzed on his nightstand, he jerked and gasped and scrambled for the incessant little device. His heart sank when he realized the message was from Cody.

Every trooper in the GAR knew that is was never a good thing to find themselves sat in their General’s office, even if that General was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Not even the softest touch or the kindest word or the most well intentioned suggestion of peace could fix anything that was said within those walls.

Boil only really heard a buzzing when Obi-Wan and Cody spoke. The room itself was quiet, but each time either of them opened their mouth to speak, their voices were drowned in white noise that dissipated into nothing.

That was inconsequential really. Boil’s whole world shattered into fragments when Cody lifted Waxer’s dirtied helmet onto the desk.

Boil heard the thump of it as it settled, and knew he was meant to say something back.

Cody and Obi-Wan stared at him expectantly, and Boil couldn’t bring himself to resent the misty eyed pity in their stares.

“I’m pregnant,” Boil said in reply, and by the looks of devastation that passed over their faces, he knew that was the wrong answer.

It was all the same though, because when Boil exhaled again, it was with the high of Waxer’s last kiss on his breath, and he understood the sentiment.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a Translations:
> 
> Nuhoyir- to sleep  
> shebise- asses  
> riduure- partners, spouses, husbands, wives


End file.
